Sunday, May 29, 2011

feral

I am on empty in the middle of nowhere and it feels like home. A note to myself, a signpost on the road. I jot down a word on the back of an old phone book. Inveigle in pencil, it can be erased. Remember this, I think, or don't.

I sit on a park bench all day long and pretend to read a book. A voyeuristic journey into how I am supposed to act. There are clothes for this uniforms for that. Maybe I should try harder but probably not or won't.

The wildness was it. What drew me to them what kept me away all the same. The greatest asset always runs the risk of becoming the biggest liability if I even believe in those.

Sometimes I do,

but

some

times

I

don't.




Dear Slater,
Yes, I know, too abstract. Maybe tomorrow I can be concrete.
Mom

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